Corrupted Courage Chapter 11

The rest of my trip to school was a blur.

I kept feeling prickles on the back of my neck, like I was being watched, but when I looked around I was as invisible as ever.

As I wove through the crowds, I felt as if I took up too much space, the swinging elbows and jostling bodies I had once slipped effortlessly between now reaching out to catch me, trap me, turn me from my course. I was a leaf in the current, when just yesterday I had been part of the stream.

I tried to tell myself it was all in my head. Over and over again, as I squeezed down crowded sidewalks and tripped across cracked asphalt, as I jogged to catch the hissing, groaning bus and collapsed into a sticky leather seat, I reminded myself that no one knew it was me.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t shake the paranoia clinging to me like a shadow. My breathing became fast and shallow, my face tingled, I wanted to hide, to run. I squeezed my hands into fists in my lap and tried to let the swaying of the bus sweep me away. In the dusty window, my reflection seemed to wear a mask.

Somehow, I made it to school. The familiar smell of pencil lead and industrial floor polish calmed my nerves. Here, I had always been a part of the background. Here, no one looked below the surface.

My footsteps echoed on the yellow-white linoleum. The halls were empty; the air had that unnatural stillness that school corridors always have when everyone else is in class. I felt my anxiety start to come back.

In addition to my jumpiness, I became aware of the hollowness in my abdomen, and a shake in my hands that wasn’t just nerves. With a pang of regret (Or perhaps it was hunger) I remembered my plan to treat myself to breakfast. I’d completely forgotten about food the moment I’d seen myself on television.

I pulled out my phone to check the time. Second period would be over in ten minutes anyway. The school had a snack bar in the commons.

I did and about face and started headed in that direction. I suppose school food is better than no food, I though. I made a face. Barely.

The commons was a long, narrow, low-ceilinged room that was trying to be inviting, but not very hard. As Xen always said, F for effort, A plus for tackiness.

The floor was muffled by that carpet schools always have that looks grey but is actually a bunch of specks of uncomplimentary colors jumbled together, orange and cyan and yellow and pink and olive. Several uncomfortable benches upholstered in garish geometric patterns were flanked by big containers of shiny plastic ferns, and the vomit colored cinderblock walls were plastered with peeling posters of various clubs and school organizations.

All the hallways on the first floor converged there, which meant the floor was always littered with trampled garbage and the furniture was always knocked out of alignment by the stampede between classes.

It seemed to take an unreasonably long time to make it across the commons to the snack bar at the far end. The linoleum counter was lit by a series of hanging light, each one encased in a bell-shape of mottled orangey-brown glass. Their illumination was probably intended to be warm and inviting, but once again ended up feeling tawdry and cheap.

I squinted suspiciously at the bowl of waxy looking fruit on the end of the counter. The apples and oranges seemed to actually be gathering dust.

“They’re not fake, I checked.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Crap. I had forgotten purchasing food required interacting with other people.

The girl who’d spoken was short and elfin. Her too large, perfectly round glasses were balanced by a smile framed by unfairly cute dimples. She leaned towards me across the counter like she was telling a secret.

“Sydney, that’s the girl I usually work with, she’s sick today, said she thought they were plastic, but they’re actually real fruit.”

I tried to think of something to say. This wasn’t in my usual ordering food script.

“Shocking right?” she continued, “They’ve probably fossilized by now, though. No one ever buys them.”

“Yeah,” I said eloquently “cool.”

For some reason, (perhaps she found my awkwardness charming) the girl laughed like I’d said something funny. I studied her face, trying to figure out of she was making fun of me, then looked away quickly.

She really was incredibly pretty. She had rich, caramel skin that somehow made the cheap mood lighting of the snack bar look like something from an oil painting. Her eyes reminded me of the chocolates my mother always put in my Christmas stocking growing up: dark and smooth, flecked with the shine of crystalized ginger. They crinkled at the corners when she smiled, as she was doing now. In spite of my long, awkward silence. Which I should probably end.

I shook my head. I didn’t have time to get distracted by unfairly pretty girls with perfect smiles.

“My name’s Flor,” the girl continued. “Not like what you walk on. Its Spanish for flower.”

“Right.” I said. There was a long pause. It occurred to me that I should tell her my name, since she’d told me hers. “I’m Maisie.”

Without thinking I held out my hand. Flor looked at it. I looked at it too. Wait, why am I trying to shake her hand? What am I, an old lady?

I was about to lower my hand when Flor reached out and shook it with an unexpectedly firm grip. Her small hand was warm and surprisingly rough with callouses.

“It's really nice to meet you, Maisie. I’ve only gone here a couple months, so I don’t know many people yet.”

“Cool,” I said without thinking. “I mean, not cool that you don’t know anyone yet. That sucks. Sorry.” I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. Maybe for my general failure as a human being.

I had a sudden, ridiculous longing for my mask and costume. As ridiculous as my alter ego was, she did give me confidence. How was it possible that just last night, I had been shattering glasses and making demands? I couldn’t even talk to the cut girl who ran the snack bar. Was Flor the kind of girl who would be impressed by superheroes and speeches?

I shook my head again. “Anyway, I said quickly, trying to change the subject, “what would you recommend. To eat, I mean.”

“Hmm.” Flor ran a hand through the mop of black curls on top of her head, making them stick out in all directions. Her hair was also unfairly perfect, on-purpose-messy on the top, shaved to stubble on the sides. “I mean, nothings good, but the breakfast burrito’s not bad. If you get an iced coffee to wash it down its almost a decent meal. Almost.”

“Sounds good,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. “I’ll have that.”

“Coming right up.” Flor disappeared into the back of the snack bar. A few minutes later I heard the whirr of a microwave.

What are you doing? I asked myself. You don’t have time to crush on some random snack-bar cashier. Flor, my traitorous brain reminded me. Her name was Flor.

A few moments later, Flor handed me my breakfast burrito, wrapped in a paper towel.

“Microwaved fresh especially for you, milady,” She said with a wink, quirking an eyebrow.

Crap, is she flirting with me? I don’t have the bandwidth for this.

“Thanks!” I blurted awkwardly. I picked up the burrito and my coffee to walk away, then remembered I still had to pay. After trying unsuccessfully to transfer both items to one hand, I set both back down on the counter and dug my phone out of my pocket.

I swiped my phone over the sensor, which chimed cheerfully as credits were deducted from my account. As it did, I message popped up on my phone screen:

Warning! Your account status is: critically low. You have: 7 credits remaining.

Cheeks flaming, I pulled my phone back, mashing the power-off button with a clumsy thumb. I glanced up quickly to see if Flor had seen the message. The look of pity on her face told me she had.

Cheeks flaming, I gathered my breakfast and turned to leave, wanting more than anything for this whole mortifying encounter to be over.

“Hey . . .” Flor said. Now it was her turn to look awkward. “Don’t worry about it, okay. I’m sure everything will get better soon,” Her smile returned full force, as though it had never left. “Perhaps this is an opportunity for rebirth.”

I mustered a weak smile and struggled to look away from her. Her spiced-chocolate eyes had become suddenly magnetic, her whole face glowing from within with sincerity.

I nodded and turned quickly to leave, slightly disturbed by her sudden intensity.

As I hurried away, Flor called after me, “It was nice meeting you Maisie! I hope I’ll see you around!”

I turned back and tried to wave at her, but forgot I was holding an iced coffee. I slowly lowered the to-go cup and made my escape before I could embarrass myself further.

Well that was a disaster, I thought as I hurried towards third period. Why can’t talking to cute girls be as easy as summoning a lightning bolt.

As the heat of my humiliation faded, I realized that something else about the conversation was nagging at me.

Rebirth. Now where have I heard that before . . .